


Jeeves and the Lovesick Master

by Tarn



Category: Jeeves & Wooster
Genre: Crazy Scheming, First Time, Humor, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-20
Updated: 2014-08-20
Packaged: 2018-02-13 22:41:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 20,741
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2167863
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tarn/pseuds/Tarn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bertie Wooster is in love again but this time he’s quite shocked to realize the object of his affection is none other than his own valet Jeeves.  Being a modern fellow, Bertie decides to throw caution to the wind a pursue his darling.  But how to do it?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Jeeves and the Lovesick Master

**Author's Note:**

> I really don’t know how this story got to be so long. Maybe I just got carried away. I’ve been in love with these two for years. Watched a lot of PBS when I was younger and this was on while I was in high school I believe. I later watched them on A&E and on video and DVD. It was happy day when I first found J&W slash. I’ve since managed to get my wife to fall in love with them too. It’s in part due to her prompting that this was written. This has been betaed and waiting to be posted for awhile now and I decided that tonight was the night. Enjoy. 
> 
> Songs are "Embraceable You" by George and Ira Gershwin, "You're the Cream in My Coffee" by Ray Henderson, Buddy G. DeSylva and Lew Brown, and "It Had to Be You" by Isham Jones and Gus Kahn.
> 
> I rated it Explicit to be safe but it really might be just Mature. 
> 
> And I expect Bertie doesn't speak French as well as he thinks he does...

Never let it be said that Bertram Wilberforce Wooster is a man who does not know his own heart. He may not know his head from his bottom most days but his heart, or rather my heart, is a dear old chum for whom I have the fondest feelings. The trouble is that though I may know and like my heart, I do not always understand it.

Rather like having a favorite terrier whose company you may delight in but whose barks and yips are quite the mystery. Is he saying 'play with me' or 'I'm hungry'? Could he be telling a joke? Is he trying to inform you that you are a careless ninny and are sitting on his favorite toy? You can't know now can you?

It's much the same with hearts. They don't speak the same language as heads. Oh no, it's all feeling, feeling, feeling and reason, reason, reason. Like a German talking to a Swede. They might have a fine conversation but does either have the slightest idea what the other has said? 

What they need is an interpreter. Now as luck would have it a spring day makes for a bally fine interpreter ‘tween h. and h. and I happened to be out in one on the day the chaps had their first real chat.

I was strolling merrily, taking the long way through the park between the Drones and the flat, with a particular spring in my step. Chipper and gay as you please. Like a dandy in a novel, with a song in my heart and without a care in world. I might have been humming even. Such was my mood on that most glorious and auspicious of days. And what was our hero thinking about on this beatific afternoon? I was thinking about Jeeves.

Yes, Jeeves. The finest valet an upper class twit like me could ever hope to find. A gentleman's gentleman beyond all possible measure. I was thinking about some of our more interesting recent adventures and marveling over his intellect and skill in slipping from them not only unscathed but better off then when we'd entered them. Oh I won't give details; name names, I'm not the sort to air the dirty linen of others. Not I. It doesn't really matter anywho as the only person on my mind was Jeeves.

And herein lies the puzzle. Why was I contemplating my valet so intently and happily? It was something Oofy Prosser said at lunch really. I was regaling one and all with a story about Jeeves pulling me from the brink of my own stupidity yet again. I had the lot rolling throughout and went to my lunch with the feeling of being some sort of brilliant oratory genius. And for this reason perhaps I allowed Oofy and the Twins to distract me from my shepherd's pie with demands for more tales of Jeeves & Wooster B's adventures. By the time I had finished various requested favorites, my pie was cold and the lunch dessert was reduced to room temperature sorbet. Blek.

I was quite chuffed, until Oofy fetched me up a drink and offered one of his private stock of imported cigars. They cost a fortune but worth every penny. “Sorry to spoil your lunch Bertie, but I delight in hearing about your man Jeeves. I swear if he was a woman, well class be damned, I'd marry her.” 

This statement called forth an image of Jeeves in a dress that I'd prefer not to dwell on. Wasn't fetching in the least. Geeah. Still, his words struck some cord deep within my breast. “You'd have to beat me to it Oofy old sweat.”

We chuckled over that and moved on to a sporting game of billiards. The whole time though I was distracted by the thought of Jeeves. The thoughts persisted as I walked through the park. Thoughts of Jeeves and all he’s done for me since he came shimmering into my home and took my life into his capable hands. Honestly, if it weren't for Jeeves I'd be constantly in the soup. Drowning in a tureen of bouillabaisse with just a bit of stale crouton to use as a life preserver. Jeeves is the ladle which pulls me from certain death among the monkfish and prawn.

That line of thought started my stomach rumbling so I decided to high it home and see if Jeeves could whip up an early tea. As I crossed from the park onto my street I spied Molly the flower seller and gave her a hearty cheerio.

“’ello Mr. Wooster. Fine day for a walk.”

“Yes, it is Molly. And how is the flower business today?”

“On a day like this, sir, very good. Lots of young men buying a posy for their sweetheart and ladies wanting flowers to comfort their lack of such. But I see your buttonhole is without today, sir.” She gave the offending lapel a sad look.

I looked down at my coat, sans its customary boutonniere, and sighed. It’s our habit, Jeeves and mine, that when I take lunch at the Drones, he walks with me on his way to some household errand or other. We stop at Molly’s little stand and Jeeves chooses whichever flower he feels best suits my attire and slips it deftly into my buttonhole. The first few times he did it I barely even noticed. Barmy Fotheringay-Phipps pointed it out the first time and the second I found while looking for my lighter. I’ve grown so used the practice that normally the absence of the flower makes me feel a little off.

Today being one of the rare occasions when Jeeves did not accompany me the flower was missing. “Yes, well without Jeeves to choose it I fear I’m likely to have ended up with an amaryllis or some other wildly inappropriate flower.”

Molly chuckled. “I can see your point, sir. And what is Mr. Jeeves up to today?”

“Not sure really, said he had some things to do in the flat. Not to worry, whatever they are I’m sure he has them well in hand.” I picked a single pale pink rose from the lot and handed over the required coinage with a smile.

I’d intended to walk right home but the strangest mood overcame me countering even my hunger. So I just turned at the corner and walked for a few random streets studying the rose. Every petal as though I was some sort of painter Johnnie with an eye to immortalize the thing in oils. I wasn’t sure why I’d even bought the thing. It just came over me that it was quite the prettiest rose I’d seen in a long time and wouldn’t Jeeves fancy it? I would bring it home and he’d place it in the cut crystal vase that rarely gets used and set it in the center of the dinning table with that little almost smile he does when thing are just so about the flat and dash it all when had I fallen in love with Jeeves?

And here the hero of our tale has one of those startling realizations that comes on one rather like a punch in the gut. Knocks the wind right from a fellow. It did for me. I was in love with Jeeves. Apparently madly so.

This is the kind of development that might make a lesser man question his sanity, check himself into a home and have his head looked over by the sort of doctor that would father girls like Honoria Glossip. Not I though. Not Bertram Wooster. Old Bertie is not a man to sit in judgment or think ill of a lad who falls for some girl below his supposed station or other such rot. Oh no.

I’m a modern sort of fellow. I can speak French and read Forester and Lawrence and Fitzgerald and other modern writer coves. The point I’m trying to make is I didn’t lose my head over this. I simply decided that if I loved Jeeves that was just the way of things and I’d just have to move h. and e. to have him for my own. If Jane Eyre could have her Mr. Rochester then I could have Jeeves. Simple as that.

The first action I took was to return to Molly and buy five more of those pale pink roses for an even six. With flowers in hand I near sprinted home so eager was I to start my campaign. I entered #3A Berkeley Mansions and like clockwork Jeeves emerged from his chamber just as the front door shut behind me.

At first sight of him my heart did this fluttering jump and I nearly lost my resolve and bolted back out the door. Instead I just stopped and gave him a firm, appraising look. Jeeves is really dashed handsome when you think about it. Dark and broadly built with midnight blue eyes that look right through a chap. I probably would have stood gaping at him for at least an hour if he hadn’t spoken in that velvet tone of his.

“Welcome home, sir. I trust your lunch was satisfactory.”

I blinked. “No. Sadly no, Jeeves. I was hoping you could maybe see to an early tea. Just to tide a fellow over until supper you know.”

There was a disapproving glint in his eye, as though he didn't like at all that I’d not had a proper lunch. Made me feel a bit giddy. “Cucumber sandwiches, sir?”

“Oh yes. Quite. Those are just the chappies I was wanting. Thank you.” I swallowed and tried to think of something more to say.

“Is there anything else, sir?”

I looked at the roses and sort of made some funny noises that sounded like  
‘er... well... that is...’ and so forth. Not my most eloquent I can tell you.

Jeeves gave that polite little cough of his and took a step toward me. I had this moment of panic caused by the rather sudden desire to surge forward and take his solid form into my arms. I didn’t though. I just let him remove the flowers and take my hat from my head.

“You seem to have a quantity of roses, sir. Was there a specific reason for your purchase? Are we perhaps expecting a guest for tea or dinner?” Jeeves gave my person a careful once over as though he was looking for the signs of some woman’s varnished claws in me.

“Oh no. Not a bit of it. I just thought, it being spring and all, that flowers were just the thing to brighten up the old place. Don’t you think so, Jeeves?” You'd have thought I was asking him to marry me the way my heart was thumping.

“They are quite lovely. Pale pink is admiration I believe, in the language of roses. But six, sir?” That note of patient, fatherly scolding at the end very nearly did me in. 

I shrugged. “Well, one seemed too few. And a dozen would have been ridiculous. See to the tea will you, Jeeves.” I took my hat from him and made quite a show of hanging it on the rack, finding the novel I was reading and sitting down.

“Very good, sir.” And he left me to myself.

Watching that retreating back doubt began to wiggle its terrible way into my hopes for love’s many joys. I pushed it away with a stout shove. I would not be bullied by uncertainty. Down the book went with a snap and up went the Wooster to the piano to play the first romantic tune that came into my head. 

“Embrace me  
My sweet embraceable you  
Embrace me  
My irreplaceable you…”

I continued to play and sing as Jeeves shimmered in and out of the room laying out the tea things and setting out the afore imagined cut crystal vase with two of those blasted roses in it. The other four ended up in an arrangement on the sideboard. From the corner of my eye I watched him admire his careful work before coming to stand behind me as I sang the last bit of still another love song.

“You’re the sail in my loveboat,  
You’re the captain and crew,  
You will always be my necessity  
I’d be lost without you.

You will always be my necessity  
I’d be lost without you.”

The song done I stood, shut the piano and turned to stand before Jeeves, wishing very much that I could just take that last step forward to bury my face into the spot on his neck where stiff white collar and creamy skin meet.

“Tea is served, sir.”

The spell broken, all I could do was thank him and take a seat at the table. I watched him make my Earl Grey just how I like it and serve me up a tidy little pile of cucumber sandwiches, cold chicken salad, and lemon tarts to sate my appetite.

“Will that be all, sir?”

A very normal question on any other day, but today? Today it was the sort of thing that made my pulse race like some bally stallion. “Um… yes. This is fine. Carry on, Jeeves.”

He gave a careful nod and was gone.

I ate. What else could I do? I ate and whistled and ate and hummed and ate and got up and read and smoked a cigarette and had a brandy and soda and played the piano and just moved about the flat in a general muddle. Jeeves floated in and out but I tried to ignore him, mostly to keep myself from staring at him in love struck awe. Finally, after hours of this, Jeeves stepped into the room and coughed.

“Will you be staying in for supper this evening, sir?”

“Let’s go out, Jeeves.” It came out all sudden like. “There must be some restaurant you’ve wanted to try. You choose the place and we’ll go.”

Unflappable. That’s the word. Jeeves didn’t even blink. “You wish me to choose a venue, sir?”

“Yes. I’d like to take you out. Sort of a thank you if you like. And not as my valet either, think of us as old chums out for an evening.” I smiled, trying to look as pleasant and attractive as I could manage.

“Are you quite sure, sir?” There was an odd raise to his right eyebrow, a momentary look of puzzlement. It made me strangely happy to see it.

“I insist, Jeeves. I insist.”

And that was that. Jeeves saw to my evening attire and then to his own. I must say that seeing Jeeves in his black tie best did rather a number on my stomach.

“Shall we, sir?” He said fighting with a wayward stud at his cuff.

“Let me help with that.” I took hold of his wrist and got the blighter into place. Something Jeeves has done maybe a hundred times for me but in reverse it was poignantly intimate. I covered my emotion with a wide smile. “There we are. So where are we headed?”

Jeeves was looking at the cuff intently before giving me another of those almost puzzled looks. “I believe I have chosen an acceptable location, sir.”

“Ripping. Lead on, Jeeves. Lead on.”

We left and after a bit of a tangle about fetching the car and who would drive, we were off. Jeeves gave me most excellent directions and before long we'd parked the car were hoofing it into one of those oh so fashionably bohemian parts of London, though I dare say that this area was more the latter than the former. Jeeves stopped before an inviting little place from which wafted the most interesting combination of sounds and smells.

“Someone's banjolele needs tuning I think.”

“I believe that is a sitar, sir. An instrument of Indian origin, as is the proprietor and head chef of this restaurant. A Mr. Chanda Divekar of Bombay, Paris and lately, London. After you, sir.”

“Ah, ah, ah, Jeeves. Is that anyway to address an old chum?” And into the quaint little restaurant we went.

And quaint it was, with an interesting mix of patrons. A few were dressed in evening wear, like Jeeves and I, but most had that rumpled, haphazard style of the intellectual set. It put me in mind to my times in New York rubbing elbows with artists and free thinkers.

Here the flaw in letting Jeeves choose our restaurant became clear. You see, if I was wooing a person of the feminine persuasion I'd have taken her to some dashed posh French place and impressed her with my knowledge of fine wines and skill in ordering five or six courses in the language. This will not work with Jeeves however as the only reason I can keep a bordeaux straight from a beaujolais is through his diligent tutelage and he's heard me speak in French often enough that it's ceased to be novel I'm sure. So instead of me shining like a beacon of refinement and class it was me looking like a complete poop while staring goggle-eyed at the menu.

“If you will allow me, sir.” Jeeves said with his usual panache and proceeded to order an assortment of exotic dishes I could barely pronounce.

My attempts at conversation fell rather flat as well. What do you say to a man who already knows pretty much everything about you? That only thing he didn't know yet I wasn't about to blurt out over before-dinner beverages. At least the music was lively and distracting. We listened quietly, Jeeves drinking an odd concoction of milky stuff that smelled of flowers while I enjoyed a well made gin and tonic. Just when I hit upon the idea of discussing music, dinner appeared in all its glory.

And glorious it was. A feast of new tastes and flavors. I'd had Indian food when my sister last visited from the country, but not like this. There was a red stained chicken whose meat fell easily from the bone, a pile of delicious green goo with chucks of white cheese, various savory breads and pastries, a variety of spicy bean, vegetable and meat dishes that had been cooked into a pleasant mash, funny airy cracker things and all manner of relishes. Jeeves warned me away from certain of the dishes but I would not be cowed by a mere collection of spices. Luckily there was a nice cool salad of cucumbers and yogurt to tame the fire.

“I did caution you against the green chili pickle, sir. It is quite hot.” Jeeves scolded lightly.

“And I should have listened. What’s this one?” I said pointing at a fried pastry.

“A samosa, sir. Spiced vegetables folded into dough pockets and fried. They are very good.”

I speared one with my fork and shoved it into a bowl of sweet and tangy chutney. “And this I’m coating the thing in?”

“A tamarind and ginger chutney if I’m not mistaken. They do compliment each other very nicely. Try the baigan bhartha, sir. I believe you will find it most satisfying.”

“Biggan whata?”

“A spiced aubergine dish, sir.” He spooned a healthy dollop onto both our plates.

“Not sure if I can pack more in, Jeeves.” 

Then I forked a bit into my mouth and found that I could indeed. After a few more helpings of pretty well everything, I was stuffed as a Christmas goose. An Indian goose at that.

“Jeeves I am as ever in awe. That was a feast. How did you hear of this place? Don’t tell me a cousin of your runs it.” The waiters cleared the plates and Jeeves asked for fresh drinks and what I hoped was desert. 

“No, sir. I am however acquainted with the owner. A Mr. Chanda Divekar as I mentioned before. We were both employed for a short time with a Colonial Sinjohn who’d spent a number of years in India.”

“Not long enough to stop him from asking me to cook beef every other Sunday.” The dark skinned man who appeared at the table snorted derisively. “Not that I can’t cook it, I’d just really prefer not to. Hello, Reg.”

I was taken rather aback at that moment. Firstly by the reminder of Jeeves given name, Reginald. Secondly by the handsome dark cove in a soiled apron who’d suddenly invaded our cozy table for two. And thirdly by the facial expression that said man elicited from my Jeeves. It was close enough to a smile to bally well be one.

“Chanda. I hope the evening finds you well.”

“Dinner rush is over at least. I can have a coffee and some food. Ordered the kheer again didn’t you, Reg?” The Indian smiled as he ran a hand through his thick hair absently.

“As per usual. I did however choose the gulab juman for Mr. Wooster. I thought it would be more to his taste.” Jeeves thanked the waiter as he returned with drinks, deserts and dinner for his employer.

“So this is Bertram Wooster. Chanda Divekar, you likely don’t recall but we were at Oxford together.” And with the brown hand extended, I was included in the conversation.

“Really? I know my memory is painful but I’m sure I’d have remembered you.” I gave the hand a good shake, feeling warmer toward this chap than I had the moment before. Funny how old Oxford will do that.

“Well, sort of, I think we were both at the same party once. I was two years behind you and I didn’t stay long. Father sent me there for business courses but I ran off to Paris to study under a Cordon Bleu graduate instead. Then back to India to master the cuisine of my homeland. Think I’ve got it?” He grinned as he dived into his plate.

It prompted me to try my desert. I cut into the little brown ball and let some of the thin golden syrup it was floating in soak into the pale inside before spooning it into my mouth. That portal was instantly rewarded with the loveliest of flavors. Honey and a sort of nutty, milky sweetness that I could only described as de-lish. 

English failed me, as it tends to do in moments of gastronomic bliss, so I complimented the chef in French. Chanda responded in fascinatingly accented but equally good French and we conversed for a bit in the language. Jeeves polite silence was beginning to bother me though.

“Here now, Jeeves, what did you get?” I started to reach across the table but a patented Jeeves reproachful look stopped me.

“It is kheer, sir. A rice dish delicately flavored with cardamom, cloves and pistachios.”

“A milky puddle of rice with barely enough flavor to bother calling it food. I hate the stuff. My aunt makes it by the gallon for the restaurant. If I stopped serving it she’d probably die of sorrow.” Chanda gave the kheer a scathing look.

“How is Miss Jaswinder?” Jeeves asked as he pushed his dish toward me. I supposed the word he’d said was a name since he’d preceded it with miss. It was also, I noted, part of the restaurant’s name.

“Lively and overbearing as ever. Come in for lunch sometime, she’d love to see you again. Going to try the kheer Bertie?” He smiled as he turned his attention again to me. 

I watched Jeeves stiffen and scowl somewhat at Chanda’s use of my shortened name. It was such an odd reaction that I just dismissed it and dipped my spoon on the rice. “Mmm. That’s quite good. Subtle, but a nice finish what with all these peppers and chilies and what. Cooling.”

“My opinion exactly, sir. It lacks the sweetness of the gulab juman but its ability to refresh the palate more than compensates.”

“Beer refreshes the palate too, Reg. Bertie, want a beer?” Chanda grinned widely as he offered.

“Yes, I rather think I would like one. Thank you.”

“Are you sure, sir?” Jeeves gave one of his looks of tolerant concern. 

“Oh, he’ll be fine.” Chanda called to a waiter and in a flash we had a pint each. Well, Chanda and I did, Jeeves politely refused. “Reg doesn’t like beer.”

“I do not dislike the beverage; there are many beers I quite enjoy. I am simply not inclined to imbibe it tonight.” Jeeves said, a little primly I thought.

I decided to change the subject. “So who is this Jaswinder? I notice her name is on the restaurant. ‘Jaswinder Chanda’ I think it was. Your wife or something?”

“She’s my aunt.” Chanda was quick to correct me. “She’s part owner and helps in the kitchen. Taught me nearly everything I know about traditional Indian cooking and more about how to cook to suit British taste. She worked as a cook for a few different memsahibs in her time.”

I raised my glass and drank to him as a fellow put upon nephew of the world. “Ah yes, aunts. I have more than my fair share of them. What species of the creature is she? Widowed, married or maiden?”

“Maiden. I think she had some doomed romance in her youth that led to spinsterhood. She's the only member of my family who doesn't pressure me to find a wife, which suits me just fine.” Chanda's grin was very nearly a leer.

The look made me feel a bit funny and I took a rather larger gulp of beer than I'd intended. Jeeves raised his eyebrow the tiniest fraction of an inch at me, but did not speak.

“Well you're lucky.” I informed Chanda as my glass met the table again. “My aunts are always throwing prospective brides at me. I've had to put my foot down on the matter several times. I happen to like things just the way they are.”

I looked at Jeeves again and realized that wasn't entirely true. There was one thing I'd definitely change and it was a corker. He happened to catch my eyes at just that moment. Heat rose in my face and I feared I was turning as red as the leftover chicken on Chanda's plate. All I could think to do was take another long swallow of beer. As the stuff hit my tongue I panicked and drank the remainder of it down.

I've often heard that one’s emotional state can have quite an influence on how strong drink effects them but I was always skeptical as to the truth of it. No more, Bertram Wooster is a believer. Now my constitution is well known to be rather robust. A whiskey and soda, a martini, a brandy and soda, two gin and tonics and one pint of beer imbibed within the roughly seven hour period from lunch to dinner wouldn’t, under normal circumstances, do anything more than make me a trifle more chatty. I can generally stand up straight and recite the Eton school song from memory without the slightest ripple in the Wooster person's person on twice that. Well half again at least.

On the night in question however I was in such a state of nerves over Jeeves that this speedy absorption of pale hoppy ale slammed into me like a medieval battering ram. Only luck kept me from doing more then hiccoughing as I set the glass down on the table with a smack.

“There's a lad!” Chanda exclaimed with a laugh. “Have another Bertie. We'll make a night of it.”

I was just about to claim a sudden head, which was true as a matter of fact, when Jeeves coughed. I didn't know a cough could sound quite so pipped.

“I fear the hour is very late, sir.” Jeeves snapped his watch shut and stood. He turned to Chanda and bowed his head ever so slightly. “Please give my regards to your aunt. I will endeavor to visit sometime soon for lunch.”

“Oh yes.” I stood, swaying just a bit as my legs extended and I realized I had to support my whole body on those spindly sticks. “We’ll be back for supper I’m sure too. Don’t you think Jeeves?”

Another minute eyebrow raise. “I believe the scenario can be arranged, sir. If you do not mind, Mr. Wooster, I think it best if I drive us to the apartment.” 

And with another small nod to our host Jeeves maneuvered me out the door. It’s uncanny how he does it really. He basically pilots from behind so that to all the world it looks like the person in front, that being me, is the one leading the way. And he does it without laying even a finger on me. I gave Chanda a hearty wave as Jeeves preformed this feat and we left the restaurant and began our walk to the car.

The bracing night air cleared the growing fog out of my head enough that I managed to walk through the neighborhood toward the street where the car had been left without too much trouble. Jeeves was characteristically silent, which was all right since I was using the time to steal glances at him and wandering how he’d react if I kissed him under the light of the gas lamps. Beer and the romantic air of the evening were combining to make me dashed giddy. I started to hum and then croon another romantic ditty.

“You seem in a most sentimental temper tonight, sir. I had wondered if there wasn’t a particular reason for your current disposition.” Jeeves reached out and gently drew me away from a collision course with a rummy big flowerpot as he spoke.

I grinned like a first class nimrod at him. “Very well Jeeves, I admit that the Wooster eye has cast itself toward love’s fair shores. I wasn’t expecting it, the fact is it’s not the sort of things that happens to a chap everyday but it’s happened and I’m embracing the wild thing.”

“Indeed, sir. May I inquire as to the identity of the individual who has caused this happy circumstance?” There was the slightest hint of a sigh to the words.

And here was presented the chance to bear my soul to this tall and majestic creature my heart had set itself on. To speak that heart to him and see if he could perhaps see his way clear to give the daft idea a try. But in a rare, for me especially and doubly so considering the drink still fuddling my thoughts, moment of clarity I realized that the time was not right. I’d not yet laid the groundwork for my case and a thing as sticky and fraught with possible in-the-soupiness as this needed a firm foundation from which to grow.

So I locked my tender eros away for that moment and offered instead a bashful shrug. “Forgive me if I can’t reveal the object of my affections just yet Jeeves. In due time all will be made clear.”

His expression was one of blank blankness. Looked bally forced if you ask me. “Very good, sir.”

The rest of the walk and our drive home was a quiet affair. I pretended to doze huddled against the car door while I watched him adoringly through lidded eyes. The longer I nursed this sentiment toward Jeeves the more attractive he became. His profile had something so regal about it that it seemed absurd to suppose the family line didn’t have some great and noble king somewhere along it.

I must have actually dozed off because the next thing I remember was waking in my own room, in my own bed and in my underclothes with my pajamas folded neatly on a chair next to the bed. It struck me as odd since in the past Jeeves usually just stripped me completely and got me into my night clothes when I couldn’t manage it myself. This time however he’d only gone as far as my unmentionables before tucking me safely into bed.

Jeeves had left my bed table lamp on and a glance at the clock told me it was just shy of the middle of the night. I wobbled out of bed and finished the dressing job for him. Nature was calling pretty loudly so I continued my wobble into the washroom to answer. This little trip went quite far in clearing the foggies and I found myself not as tired as all that. Reading was just the thing. I slipped into the living room to fetch my book for a jolly good read before healing slumber.

As I located the tome I noticed light from under Jeeves’ door. Mad ideas involving the opening of that door, the declaring of ardent love followed by some sort of wanton display or other filled me. I got a little carried away by the fancy and found myself right in front of his door clutching at my book like it was a talisman.

The impulse to open the door had me near fits. How would Jeeves react to the intrusion? Would I be shouted out after making my intentions known? Would I be welcomed into his narrow servant’s bed with a doting smile? Would I panic and babble something about a late night snack and with sandwich in hand be drawn back to my room and put back into bed like a child who’d had a bad dream?

Possible scenarios whizzed through my skull and collided like near-sighted birds. Part of my brain had the grand idea of going back to bed but it wasn’t yelling quite as loud as the ones who wanted to collapse against the door and whimper.

With the flat silent as a church and the bean as loud as a pub, it was the ears that finally found something to center on. Noise, soft and labored, was coming from the other side of that blasted door. ‘Snoring’ I thought. But no, the sound was too regular. “Breathing then?’ But why did he sound like he’d just come from rowing Oxford to victory? And why the grunts and the… moan?

This was the second startling, just socked in the stomach sort of realization I’d had in less than a day’s time. Which was the more startling of the two was a subject that would have supplied the Drones Semi-Annual Debate Match and Wine Tasting Night with a most lively discussion.

I scurried back to my room and shut the door hoping that Jeeves was too involved to hear the racket I was sure I’d made. Collapsing back onto my door I tried not to think of just what it was he was involved in. I failed and let out a groan as I shot into the bed and buried myself in my covers. Not thinking about it made more and more images flood my brain. 

Jeeves clothed in a pair of tasteful pajamas, in dark blue perhaps, long body spread out on his bed with the blankets thrown off; his eyes glazed over and head tilted back as his hand is lost in the fly of his pants. 

Jeeves in a brocade dressing gown and silk shorts sitting in his favorite chair, touching himself through the fabric and gasping softly.

Jeeves au naturel, and this is where all thought sputtered to a halt and I began to mimic my imaginary Jeeves.

And here the reader is shocked. Scandalized even. You’re likely dismayed and aghast and a lot of other words that mean the same thing. You’re thinking I’m a perverse, depraved reprobate for this shameless self-abuse. But really now, what is a chap to do? What other recourse is there at a time like this? I could find far more unhealthy ways to deal with this sort of thing. 

I wouldn't say I make a habit of the behavior but in times of physiological and emotional duress, such as this, there's not a lot of other options is there? Bertram Wooster is not the kind of man to seek out a professional on these matters and I don't mean Sir Roderick Glossop. So I ask you what other option does a respectable man have?

Returning to the story we find Bertram, that is me, biting into his pillow and furiously stroking himself. I'd at least had the presence of mind to find a jar of hand cream in my night stand and so avoid any undue chaffing. All manner of passionate images shimmered through my head to further propel the exercise.

The most persistent fantasy was of Jeeves coming to my room concerned that I was in some kind of distress. Upon seeing exactly what kind of distress I was in, he'd rise to this most out of the ordinary situation and throw his hand in, so to speak.

Another involved Jeeves entering the room with the breakfast tray next morning to find me in a state of undress and arousal. He'd set down the tray, lean over the bed and capture me in the kind of kiss that lady novelists are always trying to describe. Jeeves would then rally round at my suggestion and the neglected breakfast would grow cold indeed waiting for us to attend it.

These and many other vivid musings, along with the more physical undertaking, served to ensure that before long both my bed and my person were a bit of a mess. The temptation to drift into blissful sleep without cleaning up was, well, tempting. The thought of Jeeves seeing to my soiled bed clothes assured that wouldn't happen. I was sure he was no stranger to such occurrences, but still I rather doubted any of his former employers had ever stained their sheets while fantasizing about him.

Pulling from the bed I shuffled to the toilet and cleaned myself up. The pajamas I took off and switched to another pair. I thought I'd go with the heliotrope but I'd been in the periwinkle before and Jeeves was sure to notice the difference. So I went with the robin's egg.

The bed was a much greater challenge since I wasn't sure where Jeeves kept the spare linens. After only a modicum of looking I found them and after a tiring fight, had stripped and remade the bed. With a sigh I got the soiled items into the laundry bin and trundled off to bed to collapse into a deep slumber.

~

“Good morning, sir.”

My eyes opened to that familiar utterance with the same mix of glee and trepidation that they had for the last few weeks since the morning after our first visit to Chanda's. That morning had been an exercise in anxiety. I didn't wake up in the manner I'd imagined during my late night activities but I might as well since my heart was doing its best impression of a rabbit anyway.

Jeeves had given little indication that he saw anything amiss. Merely a miniscule eyebrow raise at the sight of me and a glance about the room as though in search of something. After, he’d produced the required coffee, toast, egg and b. with his standard efficiency.

Proceeding mornings were much the same with me in a minor state of nerves and him as undaunted and calm as ever. It did help that I’d gotten better at concealing my new nightly habits from at least casual scrutiny. And they had become nightly, which caused just a tiny pip of shame. But when one considers the kind of will power it was taking to not turn into a gibbering fool while engaged in certain daily activates it makes it quite a forgivable offense. 

My ablutions, once so innocent, were now fraught with lascivious innuendo. The heretofore normal occurrence of Jeeves drawing me a bath, Jeeves puttering around the bedroom and laying out my clothes while I bathed, Jeeves helping me dress; all became a source of tension. Shaving took unbelievable command to avoid ending up filleted. If there’s a prize for stalwart self control in the face of gargantuan temptation then it should be hung up next to my prizes for Best Wildflower Collection and Scripture Knowledge.

All this was made far worse by the fact that I’d seemed to have gotten nowhere in my quest for Jeeves’ heart. I felt like a knight of old searching for the Holy Grail under ever rock.

My attempts thus far had started with flowers. A daily, at first, stop at Molly’s to pick various bouquets with the hope that they would speak for me. Molly was very helpful about which flowers were the best choice though she gave me a moment of panic when she asked who they were for. ‘It’s always easier to choose,’ she assured me ‘if you know who they’re going to.’ I laughed it off and said they were merely for me and Jeeves, for around the flat. I’m lucky she didn’t press the issue. Jeeves dutifully handled them, filling our little home with blooms until it got to be like walking through a botanical garden. I don’t know when he started just throwing them out but when I noticed carnations in the bin I realized I’d overdone it. I reduced my purchases to just twice a week. 

A far more successful endeavor had been when I threw open my wardrobe and dresser one day.

“Jeeves!” I called grinning at my cleverness. He came in with a questioning look. “Time to sort through the wardrobe, what? Go through it all and get rid of anything not up to muster.”

He blinked at me for the barest second before giving a thankful ‘very good, sir’ and charging into the fray. It was painful to watch, I’ll admit. The discard pile was sadly bigger than the keep or the mend. I bucked up though and let the massacre occur. At least I was able to salvage a few of my favorite socks and ties to squirrel away.

This culling prompted a trip to my tailors and a few select clothiers. Once there I gave Jeeves carte blanche and watched as a light of triumph came into his eyes. With various new Jeeves approved additions to my raiment in hand we went to Chanda’s for lunch.

This was the first of many returns to the restaurant. Chanda was not in but Jeeves introduced me to the proprietor’s aunt. Jaswinder was unlike any aunt I’d ever known. The fact that she shouted at the waiters, served us herself when they proved too slow for her liking, and even went back to the kitchen to remake something that wasn’t up to her standards reminded me just a little of my Aunt Agatha, expect that she would never have done the cooking bit. I doubt Agatha can cook. The real difference however was how through it all she chattered away about art, politics, the weather, music, wine, food and all manner of topics I’d never thought to discuss with an aunt. Even my dear Aunt Dahlia.

Aside from flowers, letting Jeeves reorder my closet to his preference and our occasional shared lunches and suppers, I was floundering for anything else to do. Wandering about the flat singing and reciting poetry didn’t have much of an effect, even when I got his attention to make him listen. Trying to engage him in conversations about the nature of love wasn’t greatly useful either. He always had a good deal to say but it was always in the detached manner of an observer rather than a participant. Even when pressed about his own romantic past, of which I knew very little aside from a few names, he did no more than look sad a moment and say that it had been thus far unfruitful.

The fact that as far as I knew his darlings in these romances had been women was not lost on me. I was clearly not a woman, so the question of whether Jeeves could possibly entertain relations with someone not a woman did occur to me. I’m not a complete nincompoop you know. I tested the matter slightly by reading some poems from authors whose own relations were purported to be of a similar nature but he didn’t seem to notice the difference. I thought about asking if he thought it wasn’t rummy awful what they’d done to that Oscar Wilde cove but I just couldn’t work up the nerve.

This issue more than any other threatened to wreak my dreams of romance. The worst of it came one afternoon while I sat at my piano fighting with a particularly troublesome song.

“Jeeves!”

“Sir?”

“Do you know this one?” I tried to play the tune again, frowning at my mistakes.

He gave the ceiling a thoughtful look. “I believe that would be would be ‘It Had To Be You’ by Mr. Gustav Kahn and Mr. Isham Jones, sir. A fairly sentimental piece, but not without its charms.”

“Yes. Well it’s giving me a splitting head. Can you play the dashed thing?” I slid over on the bench to make room.

Slightly up with the eyebrow and down with the tray holding my cocktail. “I think so, sir.”

Jeeves sat down, taking care to keep some small distance between our two persons. It bothered me just a little since honestly I craved any and all physical contact with the man. There was nothing strange about it however. In all the times over the years when Jeeves had shared the piano bench with me he’d always placed an appropriate amount of space ‘tween my thigh and his. I just hadn’t cared one way or the other about it hitherto.

I watched his fingers moving over the keys, caressing them rather like I wanted them to caress me. Never having been jealous of a piano before, I felt rather queer. It occurred that maybe this wasn’t so good an idea after all and perhaps I should go fetch that drink before I leapt on him and kissed him soundly. The panic was dispelled by his soft voice.

“Is this helpful, sir?”

I smiled and shook my head. “I don’t think I’ll ever get this one, Jeeves. Not to worry though, still know the words. I’ll sing, you play.”

“Very good, sir.” And he started at the beginning playing with increased gusto. I launched into the song with a strange feeling of comfort. 

“Why do I do, just as you say, why must I just, give you your way  
Why do I sigh, why don't I try - to forget  
It must have been, that something lovers call fate  
Kept me saying: "I have to wait"  
I saw them all, just couldn't fall - 'til we met

It had to be you, it had to be you  
I wandered around, and finally found - the somebody who  
Could make me be true, and could make me be blue  
And even be glad, just to be sad - thinking of you

Some others I've seen, might never be mean  
Might never be cross, or try to be boss, but they wouldn't do  
For nobody else, gave me a thrill  
With all your faults, I love you still  
It had to be you, wonderful you, it had to be you”

The last few notes hung in the air as I turned to find Jeeves’ eyes on me. It was a look I’d not seen before on that finely-chiseled face. A sort of sad, far away gaze. If this were a novel where I was the pretty ingénue and he was the dashing hero, that look would be described as affectionate. Longing even.

My heart leapt at the possibility of that look. I wanted to reach out and take hold of him. I wanted to sing some more drivel at him. I wanted to tell him exactly how I felt about him, throw good sense right out the window.

“Jeeves, I...” I shifted closer and felt my leg press against his.

This is of course just when the doorbell rang and Jeeves removed himself from the bench and my presence with a deft movement and a quiet ‘excuse me, sir’. While he dealt with the grocery delivery, I drained my drink and mulled things over. Had I imagined that look? Was my own mad desire for him making me see things that weren’t there?

I fell into a funk over it. Mooning about the flat while Jeeves put away the groceries and shimmered about in his usual manner. The rest of the eve was spent in; reading some rather depressing poetry and avoiding the piano like it had a case of measles. The next few days passed much the same. Everything seemed bleak until that brilliant night when a new idea flashed into the old bean like a spotlight. What I needed was an ally.

The perfect ally presented itself while we were having our nearly weekly dinner at Chanda’s. The restaurant was the only area where I felt I was making any headway. At least there we acted more like friends than master and servant. Even that little source of hope was thrown into peril when it suddenly dawned that Chanda was flirting with me.

In only a few scant months I’d gone from being mostly oblivious to the circumstances of love ‘tween men, to being in love with a man and pining pitifully for him, and then to being the apparent object of still another man’s amorous interest. Made me feel quite the libertine really. 

I’m sure you won’t disagree when I say that Bertie Wooster isn’t the sharpest bit of cutlery in the kitchen so you can understand why it took some time for me to notice the situation viz. Chanda. I might have gone on not noticing if the fellow hadn’t decided to give my thigh a good squeeze under the table. The sudden feeling of a hand where I didn’t expect one made me jump and spill the w. and s. I’d been lingering over.

“Sir?” Jeeves had been about to stand up but I held out a hand to stop him.

“It’s all right, nothing to worry about. A mouse or something must have just run over my leg. These old buildings you know; probably infested since 1850. I’ll just clean myself up.” I turned to go to the washroom but not too soon to see Jeeves give Chanda a harsh look.

My short stay in the toilet included some time scolding myself for not realizing that Chanda’s ample sociability was more than the evidence of a boisterous personality. That his tendency toward hearty slaps on the back, drinks on the house, leering glances, and lingering arm clasps was intended to elicit something more than friendship. I wasn’t entirely sure how I felt about this development. Chanda wasn’t unattractive but I’d only just got used the idea that this sort of thing was in fact my cup of tea and really the only tea I wanted in that cup was Jeeves. No, I decided even if things with Jeeves never got past the unrequited I’d just have to carry on without the comforts of woman or man to ease the heartache.

With this new resolve in mind I exited the bathroom. It would be hard to accept the loss of this place as the refuge it had become but I could not risk the man’s interest getting in the way of my stratagem. From the door I could see our table clearly and the sight which presented itself to me opened up yet another kettle of kippers. 

Jeeves and Chanda were engaged in intense conversations so they did not see me emerge. But I saw them. More importantly I saw Jeeves’ hand gently resting on Chanda’s as they spoke. I was rattled by the tenderness of it. I steeled closer, employing unknown reserves of stealth and cunning in order to hear them.

“You worry too much, Reg. I’m sure Bertie can take care of himself.”

“Be that as it may, I feel it my duty to protect him from certain of life’s uglier realities.”

“Me being one of them apparently.”

“There is little need for melodrama, Chanda. I well know your tastes and they do not correspond favorably to Mr. Wooster’s.”

Here Chanda gave a little snort. “Are you sure about that? Just because you...”

“That matter is not up for discussion and I’ll thank you not to resurrect it.” At this point Jeeves scanned the room and noted my presence. He stood quickly, removing his hand from Chanda’s and soothing his jacket. “Shall we be off home, sir?”

I was too stunned to do anything but nod really but a new plan was already forming. 

~

So we return to breakfast on the morning after this new facet had come sparkling into the light. My eyes opened with more hope than they had weeks. I beamed at Jeeves as I consumed my morning repast.

“You seem quite blithe this morning, sir.”

“I am, Jeeves. Blithe is just the right word. Blithe and bonny and all that.” The grin on my face must have been enormous. “What’s not to be jolly about I ask you? It’s a lovely summer morn. I have a glorious cup of Darjeeling, a delightful soft boiled egg, toast and jam, kippers and sausages.”

“Yes, sir. I had hoped for black pudding, but the butcher had just run out when I called.”

“Can’t be helped, Jeeves. Can’t be helped. The meal is more than sufficient without. Superb even. You are a credit to your profession. Nay, to all mankind.” Yes, I was laying it a little thick but I am in love with the man you recall.

Jeeves merely tipped his head a little to the side. “It is good of you to say, sir. One does try to exceed expectations.”

I could have lingered in bed telling Jeeves he was dashed brilliant all day but I had to set my plan in motion. The trouble was the ally I was planning on recruiting wouldn’t be available for said recruitment for a good many hours. Nevertheless, I was eager to start so I dressed and prepared to leave by about quarter past eleven.

“Going out, sir?”

“Yes. Um…” I hated lying to Jeeves but I couldn’t very well tell him I was headed out to ask a mutual acquaintance to help me in my romantic pursuit of him. “Off to the Drones. Wanted to get to lunch early… they brought in some world famous chef from somewhere to do a special lunch… don’t want to miss it.”

“Very well, sir. I hope the event is a success. Will you be walking, sir, or have you need of the car?”

I had planned on driving but the Drones is within walking so usually I just meandered there on foot. It would look odd if I didn’t do the same just then. “Why? Did you need the car for some reason, Jeeves?”

“Well, sir, as it happens I was hoping to procure you another set of sheets. Your currents sets are starting to wear and the best place for fine Irish linen is unfortunately outside of a comfortable walking distance. I could take a taxi of course, sir, but the price may prove quite dear and I hoped to avoid the extra drain on the household budget.”

“Ah. By all means then, go right ahead and take the car. Not sure when I’ll be in.” So I’d be the one taking that taxi instead. My hand found the doorknob but not fast enough.

“Do you have a preference, sir?”

“What?”

“As to the sheets, sir?”

“Oh. Just get me something soft.”

“And the color, sir?”

“Uh… pick whatever color you think best. Goodbye, Jeeves.”

“Goodbye, sir.”

The distance between my flat and the Drones never seemed so long. I thought for just a moment about having the doorman fetch me up a taxicab buy my fib to Jeeves required a certain amount of subterfuge. So rather than speeding direct from Berkeley Square I walked with as much haste as my feet could rally to Dover Street and the club. Once there the much needed car and driver proved scarce as my blasted cousins had again inspired most the lads to join them in one of their wheezes. 

It seemed they were seeing how far a fellow could convince a cabbie to take them on three bob and a smile. Barmy, having been voted the most likely to end up paying fifty pounds for a trip round the block, was acting as judge and so had been instructed to keep track of the players.

“There’s a wager going on it, Bertie. Oofy is favored to win of course. Want in?”

“I’ll pass, Barmy. I’ve too much to do today to wait for Oofy to get back from Edinburgh in a taxi.” 

I reconciled myself to a few rounds of darts and a bracer as the first of Claude and Eustace’s merry dupes slunk in after having been thrown out of their cab only seven blocks from the club. Many throws and two whiskey and sodas later the front desk clerk arrived to inform me that Boko Fittleworth had just got back and his taxi was now free. He’d managed to get the driver to at least bring him round trip, but only after the promise of a considerable tip for the return. I dashed out to secure the taxi while Boko was trying to beg five quid off someone and Catsmeat Potter-Pirbright was calling for Boko to be disqualified on the grounds that return trips had not been discussed. I gladly paid Boko’s promised gratuity and after proving to the man that I had more than a few shillings on my person I requested a swift dispatch to Jaswinder Chanda.

It was half past one when I got to the restaurant. As expected Chanda wasn’t there. Jaswinder was however and no sooner did I enter than I was pressed into a chair and feed to bursting. Full of samosas, lamb korma and chutney I settled in to start my wait over a cup of spiced tea.

“Thinking about dessert, Bertram? I have kalakand fresh made.”

“No Jaswinder old dear, I fear that to consume anything more would be to risk splitting. Have any idea when Chanda will be in?”

“That boy. It could be hours knowing him. The supper rush can start as early as half past four but does he come in before six? Rarely. Ganesha knows when he’ll be here.”

“So I should ask this Ganeshi chap then?” 

“Silly, Lord Ganesha is… well nevermind. He’ll be here when he likes.” 

“Ah. Still and all, I intend to wait for him.”

She gave me a bit of a wary look but just shrugged. “Suit yourself.”

Less than a half hour later however she was back and dragging me into the kitchen. An apron was tossed over my head and a spoon put in my mouth. For the next few hours I acted as taster for all manner of new recipes; from fried fish in coconut milk to a spicy dish of mutton and potatoes to a slightly sweet yogurt and cucumber salad. How my pants continued to fit throughout I cannot say. Finally my protests of engorgement were heeded and I was allowed to retire to a corner of the kitchen to digest.

I was close to giving up on the whole scheme, to just waddle home and beg Jeeves to replace my late afternoon cocktail with a tall glass of bicarbonate of soda. I’ve never thought to pursue a career as one of those conjurer Johnnies, never much thought about any career at all really, but right then it seemed I had the stuff to pull rabbits from hats and shillings from the ears of small nippers because just as I’d made up my mind to leave the devil himself swaggered into the room.

“Bertie! Auntie told me you were here. Didn’t expect to see you so soon.” The man actually wiggled his eyebrows at me.

I meant to say something like ‘oh well, you know’ or some noncommittal pleasantry, but what came out was, “Are you and Jeeves lovers?”

At least I had enough sense to say it in French.

Chanda gave me a look that would not have been out of place in a touring comedy act. The noises he made went along perfectly with the gawping. They were sort of a dry sputtering. He then said something that sounded quite rude in what I can only guess was Hindustani. At least it sounded the like the things he and his aunt often yelled at their staff.

“Let’s go have a chat. Outside.”

I don’t know why the Divekar family insists on bodily dragging people from one place to another but they do. Maybe their ancestors were involved in some little known Indian profession that carts people about like sacks of potatoes but whatever the reason I found myself again being manhandled, this time from the kitchen and into an unpleasant smelling alley behind the restaurant. 

Once there Chanda silently pulled a cigarette from a silver case and lit it. He tipped the case toward me in question.

“Oh. Thanks.” I took the offered gasper and lit it, feeling that strange ache I’d started to when anyone other than Jeeves lights one for me, including myself. We both smoked continuing the silence until I was about to go bally mad. I was just going to speak, but he beat me.

“Damn Bertie. You really know how to put a fellow on the spot.” Chanda shook his head and chuckled. He then let out a very dramatic sigh and snuffed out his half smoked c. “Alright. We used to be.”

Took a moment to grasp that he was using French again but I did just in time to answer in the same. “So you’re saying that you and Jeeves used to be lovers?”

“Yes.”

“Ah, but you’re not anymore?”

“No. It didn’t work out.”

“Right. Well good… I mean, I’m sure it was painful at the time and all but it’s in the past and time is a brilliant healer. I mean you’re friends these days and Jeeves is… well Jeeves is… Well I just wanted to make sure where things stood. With Jeeves that is. Since Jeeves is… well… oh blast.”

Chanda suddenly let out a whooping laugh. “I knew it. You’re clean dippy over him aren’t you?”

The sudden switch back to English wasn’t quite so startling as hearing Chanda say something that I’d expect from the mouth of Stiffy Byng or Pauline Stoker. But since it was a correct assessment of the situation I didn’t comment. “As a matter of fact I am. Besotted, if that’s the word I want. Head over heels and completely unable to sort out what to do about it.”

“Let’s stick to French Bertie. What do you mean you don’t know what to do?”

“Well I’ve never been in love with a man before for one. And even if I had been Jeeves isn’t like any other man. He’s Jeeves. How do you tell Jeeves that you love him and want to do unspeakable… well, you know. Anyway. How do you woo Jeeves?”

The Indian shrugged. “I just grabbed his ass. We were younger then though. If it makes it any easier, he’s been pining for you for at least a year now.” 

Light from above seemed suddenly to fill the alley brightening it to something almost beautiful. Then it became dull and squalid again at the idea that Jeeves had been hiding his ardor from the one person who wanted more than anything to have it. “Why hasn’t he said anything?”

Chanda snorted. “You know him, it wouldn’t be proper to initiate a love affair with an employer would it? That and the fact that you’re both men. Couldn’t be sure you’d go for it now could he? For Reginald Jeeves it’s far easier to play the martyr and love from afar, cherishing the little joys that are afforded to him as your valet.”

Yes, that sounded like Jeeves. “Well no more. I’ll tell him tonight.”

I took a step toward the street, only to be stopped by a hand on my chest. “Hold up just a moment, Bertie. Think about this. How is Reg likely to act if you just storm in there and declare you’re in love with him?”

“Overjoyed?”

“No. He’s likely to go all stiff and tender his resignation posthaste. ‘I am flattered of course, sir, but the impropriety is too much to be weathered.’ The reason it’s so hard to woo old Reg is that he’s got to do the wooing.”

“Huh?”

“Look Bertie, you tell him you’re insanely in love with him and he’ll balk from it just to protect you. You have to make him come to you. You have to get him to make the first move.”

“But you said he wouldn’t because it isn’t proper.” My head was really beginning to hurt.

“Exactly, and that’s why you have to make him. Force him to act. Put him in a position where the alternative is far worse.”

“And how do you propose I do that exactly?”

“Not you alone, Bertie my boy. Us.”

This is when I realized why Chanda Divekar and Jeeves were friends. They both could never go about things in a simple, straightforward way. There were always layers upon layers of intrigue and psychology. I surrendered to the man’s greater grasp of artifice as I had many times before with Jeeves. “How?”

“With only the greatest romantic motivator known to man. Jealousy.”

~

Thus began what Chanda referred to as ‘the scheme’. It started off with the simple act of staying to supper at the restaurant and returning home quite late. Jeeves emerged from his chamber as ever to inquire as to my day.

“Oh, it was fine.”

“I hope the special lunch at the Drones met your expectations, sir.”

“What? Oh that. It didn’t come off. Canceled. The chef had some or other unforeseen family emergency. Went to Chanda’s instead.”

He blinked the barest second before speaking, with a tiny note of surprise I might add. “Did you, sir?”

“Yes. Ended up hanging around all day. Jaswinder took it into her head to use me as a taster. You know she doesn’t try things while she’s cooking them, Jeeves?”

“Yes. I believe there is Hindu prohibition against it, sir. An issue of cleanliness. Should I turn down your bed, sir?”

“Not yet. Since we’re on the subject of cleanliness, I think I’ll have a bath. So see to that and then ready my night things so I can fall right into bed after.”

“Very good, sir.” The hint of coldness that always leaked into his voice when he was pipped was already there. I took it as rather a good sign. 

This marked a change in climate for the Wooster household. A certain coolness overtook most of Jeeves and my dealings. Made the façade of love-struck daffiness I was supposed to be presenting dashed hard. Chanda was insistent however that I should at first appear unquestionably happy about my new romance to create feelings of jealousy, then to seemingly grow maudlin over the thing in order to foster protective sentiments. Of course the person I was having this fictitious affair with was Chanda.

I was skeptical as to whether Jeeves would immediately come to that conclusion but I needn’t have been. He seemed to take for granted the identity of my alleged paramour. The pronounced chilliness would grow outright frigid whenever the Indian’s name came up. 

This assumption was something I reinforced by exaggerating an interest in all things Indian. This included some new knickknacks about the flat; a statue of that elephant fellow on the mantel, a soapstone incense burner perpetually stocked with sandalwood, a framed antique map of Bombay and other little trifles. I even went so far as to bring home a pair of gold embroidered cream Mojari and adopted them as my favored house slippers. They turned out to be quite comfortable in fact. Jeeves accepted my assertion that they were a gift and therefore would definitely be staying on my feet with his standard, if icy, poise. As might be expected his own interest in the country, its art, culture and cuisine waned and our shared trips to Jaswinder Chanda’s stopped altogether.

My own trips to the establishment increased until I was there more than I was home. On the days that I did linger about the flat I spent most my time in an exaggerated state of either elation or melancholy. Jeeves quickly showed signs of wear, faster then I’d expected in fact. Every night I came home late from Chanda’s, even though he knew the answer before asking, he’d inquire about my day and where I’d spent it. The disinterested politeness of the query was so well acted that I almost believed that he didn’t care. Almost.

The pudding proved itself often enough though that I’d find myself torn between guilt at my deceit and glee that I was finally having a real emotional effect on the man. I think the worst moment of feeling pulled in two came one morning while I sat glumly over my breakfast pointedly not eating my bacon.

“Are you feeling unwell, sir?” The concern in his voice was so thick I felt the unbidden desire to a stop the charade entire. But no, I had to be strong. Instead I sighed deeply. “I don’t know, Jeeves. Most Hindus are vegetarians aren’t they?”

“That is correct, sir. All Hindus refrain from eating beef due to the sacredness of cows in the faith. This may have something to do with a past socio-economic dependency on dairy products and the necessity for reliable beasts of burden. Members of certain castes and practitioners of various Hindu sects and Jainism go so far as to abstain from consumption of all animal flesh.”

“Jaswinder does.”

He faltered just a bit and then continued to set out my clothes. “Yes. She observes a fairly strict diet when it comes to meat.”

“But Chanda doesn’t, does he?”

Again, just the tiniest wrinkle in his composure. “No, sir.”

“He eats fish and chicken but not beef, pork, or mutton.”

“That is true, sir.”

I sat for a moment studying my uneaten bacon. “Jeeves. Take this away. In fact clear all the meat from the larder straight away.”

The look of horror on his face was akin to one he’d once given Bingo Little or more specifically the tie Bingo had been wearing. It was only a momentary lapse in the Jeeves sangfroid however.

“As you wish, sir. Do you intend to follow a stringent vegetarian diet, sir?”

“Um… yes. Well… fish and poultry are alright I think. They’re not really meat are they?”

“That is a subject of much debate, sir, best left to personal interpretation. It might be prudent to ask Miss Jaswinder as I am sure she is an authority on such dietary matters.” He then abruptly picked up the breakfast tray and blew out of the room without a backward glance.

The action was so out of the Jeeves norm that I was left stunned and gaping over it. That look of indignation on his face had caused such a wrench to my gut that I was rather happy there wasn’t food in front of me.

~

“Don’t worry, Bertie. This is a good sign. We’re wearing him down.”

“I don’t want him worn down, Chanda. I want him in love with me. You weren’t there; you didn’t see the look of betrayal he wore while he threw out a pound of perfectly good sausage. I nearly lost my nerve. And dash it, I’m tired of chicken and fish already.” I scowled at the cards in my hand.

It was a few days after the meat incident and Chanda and I were engaged in a game of cribbage, an event which had become our standard pre-dinner rush practice. After just over a month of play acting I was growing frustrated and bored with spending my days in the restaurant. I hadn’t been to the Drones in weeks and the last time I’d gone some of the fellows had made like they didn’t even know me.

“What we need now is a final big push to get his attention.”

“What you need is to stop all this nonsense.” Jaswinder smacked her nephew lightly on the back of the head before turning her reproachful gaze at me. “Bertie, just tell Reginald how you feel. He loves you. If you just tell him, everything will be fine.”

I had long gotten over my shock at the woman’s brass. Next to her my Aunt Dahlia is a dormouse. Jaswinder had figured out our game and had been giving us a sound telling off for two weeks solid. It really wasn’t helping me to combat my own misgivings in the plot. “I wish I could but I’m sunk so deep that I don’t know how dig my way out.”

She shook her head at me and threw her hands in the air. “Hopeless. You’re simply hopeless.”

Jaswinder stalked away and left me to my thoughts and a terrible hand. Hopeless was exactly how I felt. Chanda however seemed crammed full of the stuff.

“Don’t you listen to her; things are running just as planned. Trust your friend Chanda. The restaurant will be closed for the next two days for Ganesh Chaturthi. Come over tomorrow night so we can plan our big move.”

I had no idea who or what Gannesh Katterfi was but as I watched the man show his hand and peg out at 125 points I had an overwhelming sense of apprehension. 

The next day saw me in a state of desperate fretfulness as I frittered about the flat like a rabbit with the shakes. Neither book nor song nor gripping radio drama could distract. Jeeves wasn’t much better.

Either my own disquiet was having an adverse effect on him or some unknown outside force was causing him distress. After returning from a morning errand he spent the afternoon shuffling around moving varied bibelots a quarter inch and dusting nonexistent dust from surfaces. He seemed again and again throughout the day just about to say something to me but always appeared to suddenly recall some other thing that needed doing in the kitchen or bedroom just before he did. This only added to my edginess.

When finally I gathered up stick and hat to leave the flat he spoke. “Going out for the evening, sir?”

“Yes. To Chanda’s house. The restaurant’s closed due to some holiday or other and Jaswinder invited me over for dinner. Promised to teach me how to play Mahjong. It’s quite popular among the beau monde these days you know.”

“Yes, sir. I have heard as much.”

Normally such a statement would be followed by a fascinating homily about the history of Mahjong dating back to the Fang or Jing or Fumu dynasty, but not today.

I don’t know why I did it but my mouth was moving before I could stop it. “Why don’t you come along, Jeeves? I’m sure four players are better than three.”

“I would not wish to impose, sir.”

“How would it be imposing? They’re your friends.”

Jeeves did this little stationary dance whereby he shifted ever so slightly and moved the feather duster he was holding just a little to and fro. “Relations with the Divekars are not as they once were, sir.”

“Oh? What happened?” I found myself wishing for an absurd moment that Jeeves would say something to end this whole circus. Something along the lines of ‘Chanda Divekar has stolen away the only man I have ever truly loved’ to which I could reply ‘no he hasn’t Jeeves, he’s right here and he loves you madly’ and the light of joy would flood his fine and noble features and he’d catch me up in his strong arms and kiss me until I swooned like in some terrible romantic play. I can be a simpering chump at times.

This, however, did not happen. Instead Jeeves became as stiff and professional as a magistrate on a seriousness bender. The feather duster joined his hands in a stately clasp behind his back.

“Chanda and I disagreed on a personal matter and strong words were exchanged, sir.”

“Quarreled did you? Rummy bad luck.” I could guess what they had quarreled about too. I stood nervously fingering my hat. “I could put in a good word for you Jeeves, if you like. You know, try to open up negotiations. Mend the rift, what?”

“Thank you, sir, but it will not be necessary.”

I nodded sullenly and turned to depart when a thought struck. “Jeeves? When did you and Chanda row exactly? I mean if it’s not too rude to ask. It’s just I’ve been with hi… well, never mind that, I just wondered.”

That eyebrow went up just a little. “Actually, sir, it was earlier today.”

I must have goggled a bit since Jeeves pursed his lips slightly and coughed politely. “Have a good evening, sir.”

“Oh… um yes, you too.” I was understandably stunned and failing to think up anything else walked out the door in a daze. Coming to my senses, I made all speed to the charming little flat that Chanda shared with his aunt and spoke my mind as soon as the man was in sight. “What’s this about Jeeves and you fighting?”

Chanda blinked and then grinned. “And hello to you too, Bertie. Auntie, Bertie is here. Do come in.”

“Stop that.” I did enter though, not being a complete poop. “Really Chanda, this is important. I find out from Jeeves that the two of you have been brawling like drunken street thugs and of course I’m shocked. Do ya squabble with yer mates often?”

He snorted. “The accent’s a nice touch. Can I take your hat?”

I rolled my eyes and removed said hat and handed it to him along with my stick. He carefully ensconced them in a hat stand. “It was hardly a brawl. Not even a tiff. He showed up here this morning, we traded a few snipes and stood around glaring at each other. Then he left. End of battle.”

“Why didn’t you call me?” I sat down heavily on the sofa and pressed a cushion to my chest like it was stuffed toy.

“And that would have been a ripping idea. Have you going to Reg and bollixing up all our work by trying to play mediator.” The Indian rolled his eyes and sat down next me. “I know this is getting to you Bertie, but we’re really making progress. I mean he came over here to bawl me out for toying with you. Which bothers me a bit really.”

I gave him a puzzled look over the pillow. “Why?”

He shrugged. “Well, I must have been a terrible cad to him for Reg to assume I’m that bad for you. He’s not just jealous, he’s convinced I’m some Casanova, incapable of making a commitment to a single lover. Therefore it’s only a matter of time before I get bored with you and toss you aside for someone else thereby breaking your poor fragile heart.” 

Chanda sighed deeply. “The real irony is that was exactly my plan to snare him.”

“How do you mean?” I set the cushion aside and pulled out my cigarette case, offering Chanda one of my expensive straight Turkish.

“Thanks.” He took it and reached for a box of matches on the side table. I watched him light the cigarette as though it was a ritual to aid deep thought. He took a few drags and then smiled. “The plan was you were going to switch from being all happy-go-lucky in love to being sullen because I cheated on you and you broke things off over it. Figured you could break down some night soon and confess the whole sordid affair to him. Reg would of course feel compelled to comfort you and hopefully one thing would lead logically to another.”

“Say, that’s a pretty good plan.”

“And considering how he feels about me, it’s fairly likely to work. There’s just no chance I’ll have a friend after it does.” He frowned. “It’s not like I’ve given him any reason not to think badly of me. I have been a scoundrel.”

“Piffle. You’re just a playboy. A bohemian sort of cove who doesn’t cling to pedantic folderol. I for one envy you.”

Chanda snuffed out his fag-end and stood up. “You shouldn’t Bertie. Come on, dinner should be ready soon.”

As though summoned by his words, Jaswinder poked her head through the door. “Come and help me set the table.”

Her nephew just grinned.

My eyes about popped from their sockets when I beheld the feast prepared. It was a bit hard to just stand about smelling all the food while Jaswinder did some rather odd things to a statue of that four-armed gentleman with the elephant head. This then was Ganesh, I hadn't realised he was the same chappie on my own mantel at home. My stomach joined in while she chanted in Hindustani at the thing. After we all had a go putting a few grains of rice on his head and making them fall off by jostling the figure. Honestly it was no stranger than some of the Easter Vigils I’d sat through before.

I felt a bit awkward when Jaswinder insisted I petition the heathen idol for help with the Jeeves situation though. She called Ganesha the remover of obstacles and what with having four arms, a barrel chest and that great trunk he certainly looked it. Reminded me oddly of Jeeves.

With that in mind I made an offering and asked politely if the deity might see his way fit to clear my path to the man.

The religious observances observed we settled into our dinner with gusto. It was certainly a better spread than any I’d had after an Easter sermon. With the feast properly put away the table was cleared and reset with many small white tiles.

Two glasses of ale and four crushing losses later I concluded that while I’m a dab hand at Cribbage, Bridge, Rummy, Gin Rummy, Whist, Baccarat, Patience and many other games Mahjong is not one of them.

“Never mind Bertie, it’s hard to learn properly with three players. Bring Reginald with you next time and we’ll have a right and proper game.” She then rattled off something to Chanda in Hindustani that sounded a little grousing. He waved at her dismissively but stood to give her a goodnight kiss.

“Thank you for having me.” I bestowed my own goodnight on her cheek. She responded with a smile and what sounded like a blessing.

“Now you boys don’t stay up too late scheming. We have to go bless the restaurant at 8 o’clock tomorrow, Chanda.”

“I know, I know. Go to bed you old hag.”

“The way you talk to me. What would your poor dead father think if he heard you?”

“Who do you think taught me to call you that?”

Jaswinder threw her hands up in surrender and retreated into her room shaking her head.

“You’re lucky she didn’t throw something at you. My Aunt Dahlia would have chucked a paperweight.”

Chanda got up to refill our glasses. “Your Aunt sounds quite the character Bertie. So let’s get to scheming.”

He handed me the glass and tipped his to clink against mine.

“Cheers.” I took a deep drink and prepared myself for a few hours of plotting and intrigue.

~

My first thought upon waking was ‘what has gotten into Jeeves?’ This was due to the fact that someone was shaking me and saying my name in an excited manner. That fact it was a woman though meant that it wasn’t Jeeves at all.

“Bertie! You must get up.”

“Jaswinder? What are you doing in my bedroom?”

“This isn’t your bedroom you silly boy, it’s my living room.”

This information caused me come completely awake in a heartbeat. I was sitting in Jaswinder’s overstuffed wingchair with a ratty patchwork quilt over me. Chanda lay snoring on the davenport with one leg hanging off the edge. On the end table above his head was the pint glass holding the remains of his seventh ale. My own mostly drank seventh sat innocently on the table to my left.

These things were not quite so alarming as the morning sunlight streaming through the east windows of the room. 

“Bugger!”

Jaswinder’s eyes grew wide, she didn’t look anymore used to hearing the word then I was to saying it. Chanda, who I’d heard it from a few times, shot awake. Not due to the word choice, but because I’d shouted it. I ignored them as I quickly stood and dashed toward the door in a panic leaving behind hat, stick, and astonished friends. 

My journey through the streets of London was perhaps the fastest I’d ever driven. It was probably less than fifteen minutes before I found myself again at Berkeley Mansions. I entered my flat as quietly as I could manage, closing the door with only the barest click and tiptoeing across the carpet to my room in the irrational hope that Jeeves didn’t already know that I wasn’t there. As hopes go this was a desperately futile one and I knew it. Still I did get almost past the sofa before I heard the sound of his door opening and him coming into the room.

I whirled around sharply and exclaimed in a sort of startled squeak. “Jeeves!”

“Sir.”

“Good morning.” Couldn’t think of anything else to say.

“Good morning, sir.”

We stood for a moment in silence, his eyes fixed somewhere about my lapel and mine fixed on his brow.

“Have you breakfasted, sir?”

“No.”

“Indeed, sir? I would have thought Miss Jaswinder a better hostess.”

“I didn’t give her the chance.”

More silence. It was really starting to bother me that he wasn’t looking me in the eye. Just standing stock still and taking great interest in the weave of my jacket. 

“Did you want breakfast, sir?”

“No, I want you to look at me Jeeves.”

“I believe I am looking at you, sir.”

“No, you’re looking at my shirt. I want you to look at me.” I took a few steps closer, shortening the distance between us. And that’s when he looked up into my eyes.

I gasped. Couldn’t help it really, those deep blue eyes were so full of pain and anger that I was taken completely aback. Felt like I’d been hit by a lorry. Even thought about stepping back again as I suddenly wasn’t sure if he wasn’t going to take a swing at me or something. Guilt bubbled up inside me like champagne on a hot afternoon. I’d done this. I’d caused the great unflappable Jeeves to look like he a jealous husband about to find the blackguard who’d cuckolded him and disembowel the blighter with a blunt implement. 

“Jeeves…”

And then it was gone. Back was the solid cucumber-like man I knew. “Sir. If you do not currently require anything might I have a word with you?”

“Speak your mind, Jeeves.”

“I find I am not happy with the current situation and therefore find it necessary to tender my resignation. I’m very sorry, sir, but present circumstance make continuing in your employ. . . unfavorable.”

I swallowed loudly. One might even say ‘gulp’ and not get the thing wrong. Not that I hadn’t foreseen this complication but still, it rattled me when it happened. “Why?”

“As I said, sir, I find the current situation unacceptable and must therefore give my notice.”

Now the last time this had happened he’d accompanied those very words with a statement of ‘greatest reluctance’. There didn’t appear to be any reluctance this time. He looked pretty eager to get always from the Wooster person. Very eager indeed.

This fact prompted me to take another step closer to the man. He stiffened visibly but didn’t do more than move his hands from his side to instead take up residence behind his back. “What situation, Jeeves? I’ve not purchased another banjolele, nor have I started lessons on the trombone or any other loud and hard to weather musical instruments, so what’s the trouble?”

“It would be taking a liberty to explain, sir. Please accept that present circumstances are intolerable to me and therefore I ....”

”No, Jeeves. I do not accept. I cannot. I demand an explanation for this… this…”

“Outrage, sir?” He winced just briefly after speaking as though he’d not meant to say anything.

“Yes, Jeeves, thank you. For outrage it is. Elucidate, Jeeves. I insist.”

He sighed and looked away out the window at the blue sky and happy clouds floating like happy clouds in a blue sky. If I had not already been in love with the man I’d have fallen deeply at that exact moment. I wanted to smooth the worry from his brow and kiss away all the hurt in those eyes. With any luck I’d be doing that very thing in mere moments but we Woosters don’t count poultry before they actually come into the world so I just shifted nervously until he spoke.

“Forgive me, sir. I do not mean to cast a shadow on your recent happiness but I feel I must. In the past I have not hesitated to speak up when you have become involved in a romantic relationship that I felt unsuitable. You have accused me many time of stepping above my station in these matters but I stand by these acts as thus far my opinions have proved correct. 

“Of late I’ve began to grow concerned about my motive in these endeavors. I can no longer say with certainty that I’ve had your best interests alone in mind. It becomes clear to me that I may have had a selfish purpose as well.”

“Jeeves…” I wanted to stop him but a raised hand quieted me.

“Please, Mr. Wooster sir, I find this to be wholly difficult, but imperative, to declare. Upon realization of these… sentiments I swore that I would not in anyway impede your next liaison no matter how much it might strike me as ill-advised. I did not foresee however the level to which this new romance would trouble me. If I continue to act as your valet, I will have no choice but to take steps to put an end to your current association. I therefore must discontinue my service to you or risk breaking my vow.”

I reeled at this. People are always saying that in books but do they ever describe what exactly a reel looks like? Well, my whole body did this sort of waving thing that started with my knees buckling and my pelvis checking the backward fall just in time to make me swing forward nearly smacking into Jeeves. His hand reached out to stop my forward progress.

My eyes were locked on that hand on my chest and I very nearly took hold of it in order to keep it here. It removed itself before I could however. I looked back up into Jeeves eyes to find steel glinting in them. “You would honestly try to part myself and Cha…”

“If you do not mind, sir, I would prefer if you did not voice that name.”

Well that got my hackles up and set my ears back. This was too much. He could admit to wanting to put a stop to my love affairs but he couldn’t bring himself to say his current rival’s name. “What? Chanda.”

This time the wince he gave was full, almost a shudder. “Yes, sir. With all of my faculties and every drop of blood in my body.”

The words sliced me like a knife and I rather think they were meant to. “Why?”

“Because he is a wholly unsuitable choice for a long term companion, sir.”

He didn’t offer more in the way of explanation but it looked rather like he wanted to. It only made me angrier. Bad enough he was slighting a chum of mine, anyone who truly knows me knows the Code of the Woosters, but worse still was the fact that he was burking the very green eyed monster sitting on his shoulder. Why couldn’t the man just say he wanted me and be dashed well done with it?

Hot as I was I couldn’t keep myself from baiting him further. “Why? Because he’s a man? Because he’s Indian? Because he’s just a cook?”

“No, sir. None of those things matter to me in the slightest. If you set your heart on a rough young gamekeeper I’d rejoice, no matter the man’s descent, just so long as he was a good man and treated you well. It is neither Mr. Divekar’s social station nor his heritage that compels me. It is his character.” Jeeves spoke with steely conviction.

I found it infuriating. Not because Jeeves was standing in judgment over my romantic choices, I was quite used to that. The whole scheme was in fact dependent on the idea that his reasons for acting like a nay-saying stick-in-the-mud about yours truly’s past amorous ventures had been at least in part due to an unwillingness to surrender my person to another. And here he had the gall to tell me he’d cheerfully applaud my choice of some good hearted country rustic? My head was absolutely swimming with conflict. Throttle Jeeves for his accursed streak of martyrdom or kiss him soundly for it?

As it was, I did neither. “His character is it? And what’s so very frightful about Mr. Divekar? What makes him so unsuitable? You seemed to have no trouble counting him among your friends before.”

“Yes, and as a friend I have always found him to be loyal and honorable. As a lover however, Chanda is inconstant. His affections, though ample, are fickle and unlikely to remain on any one inamorato for long. It is simply not in his nature to be faithful.”

I had this sudden burst of anger at Chanda. Right away I felt bad about it though. The man had professed his guilt over how he’d handled their affair repeatedly during our little spree the previous night and I’d acted as confessor and comforter every time. Shame on me for turning my anger on him. This thought opened my slightly panicked mind to a new tack however. “Oh ho! Now it becomes clear. Chanda broke your heart so of course he’ll break mine? And what if he doesn’t, eh? What if he really can be true to just one lover?” 

Speechless. Jeeves dumbstruck is a thing unheard of but all the same the man himself was standing before me like a wax statue of an opera singer mid aria. I took the rare opportunity to ram my foot as deeply into my mouth as it would fit.

“Jeeves, I am shocked at you. One is forced to speculate if you are acting out of concern for my well being or out of jealousy. Oh yes, the shells have fallen from mine eyes.”

“Scales, sir.” He said blankly.

“Shells. Scales. Whatever they are, they are gone. And now I see the plain truth of the matter. You are jealous that I, Bertram Wooster, have done what you could not.” I allowed myself a smug grin to support this wholly insane accusation. It was like I was one of those lion tamer chappies at the circus with whip and chair. I’ve never seen them actually tame the beasts, always seemed more like lion taunting to me.

And Jeeves was that lion. 

He blinked out of his stupor and slid his hands behind his back primly. Suddenly the Jeeves I knew had returned in all his splendor. He was suffused with grace and poise. A man confident that he was in complete control of the situation. Or would be shortly that is.

“Mr. Wooster, sir, am I correct in thinking that you believe me to be I state of puissant longing for Mr. Divekar and due to this unrequited passion am covetous of the intimate relationship that you are apparently having with him?”

“Well, yes.”

“Hmm.” He considered a moment, eyes slightly downcast and brow a touch furrowed, then seemed to come to a resolution. “I must beg your pardon in advance, sir. There comes a time in a man’s life when it becomes necessary to set aside certain proprieties and miens in order to pursue some greater happiness.”

I was about to ask what the devil he was blathering about when a strong hand reached up to take firm hold of my tie just at the knot. Once solidly in his grasp Jeeves yanked me forward, wresting a surprised squeak from me that was quickly muffled in the blanket of an overwhelming kiss.

No. Overwhelming isn’t a strong enough word to describe it really. Not that I could have done at the time since the instant his lips met mine I melted into a Bertie shaped puddle.

His hand retained its grip on my tie while his other arm wound round me and his other hand gripped just as fiercely at my shoulder. My own arms wiggled limply at my sides like the proverbial wet noodle. I did at least have the presence of mind to kiss him back. My legs nearly buckled when his tongue slipped past my lips and stroked against my own.

Then it was over and they did buckle as he released me to fall back over the arm of my easy chair and land sideways across the seat. A smug smile fluttered over those lips just momentarily before Jeeves righted himself and became once again my proper valet.

I gulped loudly and made to stand, Jeeves stepping back to allow me to do so. Taking a few moments while adjusting my person I formulated my next move.

“Jeeves?”

“Sir?”

“Could you do that again?” And my voice only cracked a little I’m proud to say.

“With pleasure, sir.”

He moved forward. I moved forward. We met in the middle and this time my arms went round him as his went round me. And when our lips met I didn’t go all to jelly but stood upright, firm in his embrace. No, the melting waited until that tongue thing happened again. All I could do was cling to him as everything spun like a carnival ride. Kissing and breathing quite heavily for one whose mouth was occupied.

Then that kiss ended with Jeeves giving me that little half smile of his. Our arms stayed pretty much as they’d been during the kiss. I wet my bottom lip, which felt a bit swollen, and pondered. “Think we should have another go just to be sure.”

“If you insist, sir.”

This time my tongue did the lip breeching thing. I’d kissed girls before of course. Most were fairly chaste occurrences, very little of this tongue stuff. This was different but for the life of me I couldn’t put my finger, or my tongue, on why. It was certainly something spectacular.

As this kiss ended I endeavored to show my gratitude.

“Woof! Fours a bally fine number don’t you think Jeeves?’

I started to begin the next round but a finger pressed to my lips rather than another pair of lips. Not at all what I was hoping for.

“Forgive me, sir, but I fear I must bring up the issue of Chanda. Much as I would like to continue our current exercise I would be remiss in not reminding you of your obligations to another.” He removed the finger and then himself deftly from my embrace.

“Oh that. I shouldn’t worry about that. No, Chanda and I… it’s really just a… you know… ha ha well…” I ended by blowing a loose raspberry and smiling lamely.

Jeeves’ lovely month pinched into a disapproving pucker and his eyes held more reproach then a room full of aunts and vicars.

“Oh bother.” I sat down heavily on the chair arm. “Chanda and I aren’t lovers. It was a ruse, a plot to get your attention. I’m mad for you, Jeeves, but I wouldn’t blame you if you quit me altogether. As employer, friend or whatever we almost were with the kissing and such. I deserve to be left to wallow in my own…” The right word just refused to come.

“Muddle, sir?”

“Well no, though it is a muddle. Quite. How do I pull myself from it?”

Jeeves tipped his head just so and gave the ceiling a studious look. I had the oddest notion to lick his eyebrows but thought it best not to mention it.

“It would be untrue to say that I am not a little vexed by your charade. I am also more than a little flattered. Questions such as ‘how long have you harbored affection for me’ and ‘why did you feel it necessary to engage in chicanery rather then simply speak of your feelings’ present themselves. I am also most curious as to how Chanda, and Miss Jaswinder no doubt, became involved. All of this will have to wait however as I can see only one clear path out of your problem.”

I perked right up. “And that is?”

“Sex.” 

I must have looked rather like a skewered frog since the Jeeves smile was almost up to three quarters. “I think I might have gone round the twist somewhere during the kissing. Did you say sex?”

“Yes sir. Sexual intercourse can be very helpful in these instances. Many prominent nerve doctors recommend exploring new levels of intimacy as a way to help with domestic discord.”

“Hmph. Well they’d be the ones to know.” I stood up and clapped my hands together smartly. Couldn’t help rubbing them together a bit in anticipation as a matter of fact. “Let’s get on with it then. I surrender myself to your capable hands.”

Jeeves’ eyebrow went up and I flushed, realizing what exactly I’d just said. “Er, well you know what I mean.”

“Yes, sir. I understand completely. If it pleases you sir, could you retire to your room and disrobe? I will join you there shortly.” After a quick kiss he headed to his room and I dashed to mine. Eagerly I began the shedding of clothing, tossing the garments willy-nilly as I did. Once naked I sat on the bed and fidgeted a while. Looking at the jacket, shirt, pants and such scattered on the floor I had a clear image of Jeeves’ frown should he find my clothes littering the carpet. Quickly I sprung from the bed, cleared the mess and had returned to my seat before he entered.

Jeeves had also undressed but then he’d re-dressed into a robe. No silk dressing gown, but a simple tartan flannel that spoke of comfort and simplicity. It suited him far better then any brocade would. He carried a tray on which I noted a few bottles and jars as well as a neatly folded towel. He set the tray down and went into the bathroom, returning with a few more towels.

“Now, sir, if you would be so kind as to move from the bed?”

I stood, frowning. “You know, Jeeves, considering current circumstances it’s dashed awkward for you to go about calling me sir.”

He scarcely looked up from turning down the bed. “What would you prefer that I call you?”

“Aside from sweetheart you might try Bertie.”

He looked up then sighed softly. “Forgive me Mr. Wooster, but I find it quite unlikely that I would address you in either manner you suggest.”

I pulled a face. “Well don’t say Mr. Wooster, it’s worse then sir. Bertram then if you have to be formal.”

“Very well. If you’d like, feel free to address me as Reginald.” 

I grinned. “Can I call you Reggie instead?”

“Not if you expect me to answer. The bed is prepared, if you would be so good as to lay down.”

The bed bounced as I alighted on to its towel covered surface. Nervous worry fought with ardor within my breast. I tried to cast Jeeves… er, Reginald that is, a come-hither look but I fear I looked more ill than inviting. He didn’t notice however as he wasn’t looking at my face just then.

“I have long wished to tell you Bertram, that you are lovely.”

“Oh. Um… thank you.” I flushed hotly, then went hotter still as Jeeves began to remove his robe. “So are you. Like some matinee-idol. Very handsome.”

This statement however didn’t have quite the desired effect since he stopped undoing the robe. “I am flattered, sir.”

“There’s that sir again. Well if you’re going to keep treating me like your employer I’ll have to act like it. Jeeves remove that blasted robe and get into this bed.”

“Very good, sir.” Off came the robe and into the bed came one very naked, very attractive valet.

“Now kiss me.”

And he did. This will be where my brain lost any grasp on the sorts of things that brains are generally in command of, my name for one. If someone had asked me my birthday or the name of my best friend in grammar school or my shoe size either I likely would have made some odd noise and waved them away. It was all gone, replaced by Reginald Jeeves, crackerjack gentleman’s personal gentleman and, more important, the man I love.

The beloved in question was just then engaged in turning me into a gibbering idiot by stroking his hands very slowly and deliberately over the whole of my body while attacking my face and neck with demanding kisses. It was plain I’d lost charge of things again, though honestly I didn’t mind. I was too busy making my own explorations over my Reginald’s well formed person. That broad physique that put one in mind of Viking warriors and Spartan athletes. I might have felt scrawny and unappealing beside him had he not been lavishing such attentions on me. Enough to make any man feel himself an Adonis.

After a good bit of fondling and canoodling I felt altogether boneless and languid. Jeeves had kissed and caressed me to a state of advanced contentment. He broke this heady calm by stroking his hand downward and across from its former location on my left hip to take hold of my… um. That is he grasped my… er. Well anyway, he had a handful of Bertie and he was putting it good use.

I was capable of little more then some gurgling noises and involuntary hip thrusts at first. It soon occurred to me however that just laying there jerking wasn’t very polite. So I was just about to return the favor when Jeeves went me one better. His mouth, which had seemed happy enough with my right nipple, decided to investigate territories further south. Suddenly it had replaced the hand in its former efforts and I was again reduced to flopping about like a landed fish.

There was quite a clamour going on and it didn’t take much concentration to realize it was coming from me. I was shouting ‘Jeeves’ and “Reginald’ and ‘darling’ and other less recognizable endearments and exclamations. Moments of lucidity come in even the most bewildering of instances and in one of those I captured a pillow and employed it to muffle the racket. If my neighbors could hear me playing the banjolele they could surely hear Jeeves playing me.

This command performance came to its grand finale soon there after, an event which left old Wooster B spent and panting. The breathing trouble was worsened by the fact that I was trying to inhale pillowcase. This was alleviated by Jeeves thoughtfully removing the offending cushion.

“Bertram?”

I raised my head and gave the man a blissful smile.

“I gather from your current facial expression that my endeavors have met with your approval.”

The only possible answer for this was to sit up and kiss him. Having done so I found it imperative to give as good as I’d got. His hand took hold of mine before I could get hold of him though.

“Si…” He smiled. A Jeeves smile of course but more bashful then any I’d seen on him before. “Bertram. Before you proceed, I feel I must inquire after your previous experience in regards to sexual relations. In retrospect it would have been prudent for me to have asked roughly ten minutes ago but…”

“C’est la vie.” I offered.

“Yes. The French do have rather a clever way of summing up a situation. Allow me to rectify my oversight now if you would.”

There was a pause here which I found altogether frustrating as I wanted to get on with more of the touching and kissing and such. It dawned though that Jeeves was trying to ask me a question. “Oh! You mean am I a virgin?”

“Yes, though not exactly as I might have put it. In light of recent events I know the answer to be at least partially no. However, I have no knowledge of occurrences beyond that.”

I sighed. “No, not a complete amateur but not far from it. I’ll admit that that was the first time anyone’s done that to me.” I waggled my eyebrows and glanced downward.

Jeeves’ puzzled look followed my gaze then grew less puzzled. “Ah. You mean fellatio.”

I must have goggled a bit because the smug blighter was near smirking. “It is the correct term.”

“Yes, well, jargon aside my romantic escapades have been… well really just one escapade. While I was on a holiday from University ages ago. Met an American girl in Paris and had one of those whirlwind numbers. A thoroughly modern career girl sort, threatened to sock me if I even said the word marriage. It’s always bothered me a little.” I sighed at the memory.

“C’est la vie, as you’ve so aptly put it.”

“Yes. I’ve barely thought of her… what was the name? Oh yes, Phyllis. You’re the first man though, Jeeves. Reginald, I mean. Unless you count schoolboy crushes at Eton.”

“Not particularly, Bertram. I will assume that you are already aware of my past history with Chanda.” He began to lightly caress my chest as he spoke.

“I am. Was he as bad as all that really? You’ve got him in a bit of a bind over it. He was going on about it last night.”

“I fear a great deal of my ill feelings toward him were fueled by jealousy. Chanda and I were ill suited as lovers, as well as being quite young. I’ll have to speak to him. I believe that I have judged him too harshly.”

“Reginald?”

“Yes?”

“Could you shut up and kiss me?”

Somewhere during the discussion of Chanda I’d started returning those light caresses and had got a hand pressed firmly to his nape in the process. With a little application of leverage I was able to punctuate my request by pulling his head downward for the desired kiss.

A kiss which he happily did not protest.

When air became a pressing issue, I released him, but not before I’d rolled us over. With myself in the superior position I proceeded to get on with the festivities.

“Now. Just to make things clear, I don’t give a fig if you’ve had a hundred lovers to my one. I bend happily to your greater experience and look forward to learning under you.”

“May I point out that at the moment…” He gazed up at me with an indulgent smirk.

“Yes, yes, at the moment. Dash it all, you know what I mean. You always do. I love you Reginald Jeeves and just now I intend to make love to you. So will you let me bally well do it?”

And I kissed him again, letting neither breath nor objections hinder me. Not that Jeeves was offing any challenge. On the contrary, he just mumbled ‘with pleasure, sir’ amidst the kisses. Feeling quite emboldened by this, emboldened is a corker of a word what? I’m sure I got it from Jeeves. Anyway, emboldened as I was I sallied forth much the same as he had at the start of things. Fondling and kissing and generally trying to commit every part of my darling to memory.

I must say, Jeeves is a far more interesting subject to get by heart than any I’d been assigned at school. Once I’d become thoroughly acquainted with his face, neck, and torso I readied myself for exploration of the lower environs with much the same trepidation I felt when starting a new term at Magdelan.

One thing I knew right away was that I wasn’t quite ready to employ my mouth in the endeavor. I wondered if Jeeves would mind too much. From the happy, contented noises he was already making I guessed he would not. He was certainly quieter about things then I’d been, keeping it to reserved husky breathing with little more than the occasional low moan. ‘Bertram’ was often the only word spoken but ‘sir’ popped up every now and again.

After a hurried exploration of Jeeves’ thighs, legs and surprisingly ticklish feet I returned front and center for a more detailed inspection of the region. I proceeded to fondle, caress, nuzzle and generally beat around the bush until finally swallowing my fears and getting a grip on the matter. Or at least on him.

Reginald startled me not a little by pushing forcefully into the touch. With this sort of exuberant reaction bucking me up it was rather easy to open up one of the bottles of fragrant massage oil and go to town. It wasn’t so different as pleasuring myself, except for the obvious difference of course. You know, Jeeves moaning instead of me and certain physical dissimilarities. He is, as you’ve no doubt noticed, quite a big chap and I’m pleased to report that the trait is standard throughout. I took note of another striking difference as I continued. He’s intact and even while fully erect there was this delicious feeling like loose velvet gliding over a steely core.

My attentions were met by energetic bucking, fisting of the bedclothes, and a sort of throaty whimpering. More of a groaning, but a happy one. The sight was quite enough to start me back toward a state of arousal. It didn’t help that he was saying ‘oh, sir!’ with greater regularity the faster I stroked. Put me in mind of some of the intricate fantasies I’d been entertaining myself with of late. This was a great deal better than any figment of my lurid imagination however. I had a real squirming, jerking, gasping Jeeves on my hands and I couldn’t have been happier.

“Bertram…” He was making great effort at calm speech considering how heavily he was panting just then. “If it would not be too much trouble at ask… ahem… could you insert your finger into the orifice of my fundament.”

I blinked. So far I’d heard Jeeves say fellatio and orifice of my fundament within a fairly short space of time and it was quite a thing. Given the current actions of my hand however it was a bit silly to be scandalized by a few words.

“Trouble? No no no… not at all. Um… how… well yes… hmp. I suppose I should lubricate said finger.” I went again for the oil and got the hand all slippery.

“That would be prudent, yes.”

With everything properly slicked I proceeded to… well I got back to business. Jeeves did this interesting shuddering, jerking thing and let out a happy groan before grabbing my head and kissing me very hard indeed. The kissing, stroking, jerking, panting, moaning, oily bliss continued until he again cleared his throat loudly.

“Sir… Bertram… I need, and if it would not be considered to forward to request…” He stopped there, seemingly having difficulty finding the right words. 

“Oh blast Jeeves! What?!” I was at the end of my tether really. There we were both sweaty, naked and aroused beyond measure and he was mincing about like a kitchen maid who’d spoiled the pudding.

He took a moment to collect himself and became again the Jeeves of yore, albeit undressed and with his usually tidy hair sticking out in a number of places. “Polite words fail me, sir. Since I will neither lower myself nor insult you by using vulgarities, I am left with no choice but to attempt to explain myself in a less than satisfactory manner. To wit, I would ask that you make love to me as you would a woman but employing the solitary orifice you have at your disposal.”

A few good blinks later I made sense of it. “Oh! You want me to…” I almost giggled. Finding myself in the same rotten language place as Jeeves I just wiggled my still encased finger a little. That resulted in a closing of dark blue eyes and a sort of husky moan.

“I’ll take that as a yes.”

“It was certainly intended as one.”

I tamped down the rather peculiar rush of anxiety that welled up just then. It was sort of a double anxiety. I was anxious about doing it and anxious to do it, if you take my meaning. All around anxious. The only thing for it was too attend to Jeeves’ patient instructions and reassurances. I felt like some young pupil of a great philosopher like Aristotle or Socrates listening intently at his master’s knee. The subject matter was probably even similar.

Careful repositioning saw yours truly still in the superior position with Reginald flipped over on his hand and knees. “Sure about this? Not that the view isn’t fetching, it’s just I can’t really reach you for a kiss or anything.”

“It is regrettable but yes I’m quite sure. At this juncture it is by far the best arrangement. Now if you’d be so kind Bertram.”

Didn’t have to tell me twice. You know how it is with some athletic endeavors? You assume you’ll never be good at them and then someone sets you down in a boat and bungs some oar into your hands and in a flash you’re rowing for the win against Cambridge.

Boat Race Night fantasies aside, it wasn’t a pair of oars I’d in my hands. It was a pair of broad, muscled hips. Any concerns I might have had about Jeeves not enjoying himself were put quite soundly to bed. Between the thrusting back to meet me and the few utterances one could make out through the pillow his face was buried in it was a simple matter to gauge his feelings.

Keeping quiet about mine was harder. I hadn’t a pillow to shout into so I had to make do by alternately biting my lip and holding my breath. I thought about shoving a hand in my mouth but decided my right was better employed elsewhere. My left I needed for balance, definitely as Jeeves voiced his gratitude for the additional attention with a muffled cry and even more forceful hip movements.

This quite finished me. Luckily I wasn’t alone and together we formed a panting, disheveled but sated tangle on the bed. Rather a sticky one at that.

A fellow can find themselves in a right contemplative mood at times such as these and being just such a fellow, I did. I lifted my head from its resting place on Reginald’s pleasingly constructed back to share my thoughts. “So does it often happen simultaneously like that?”

“No. In fact the occurrence is somewhat rare contrary to what a great number of risqué novels would have you believe.” He wiggled a bit and I took it as a sign that he wanted out from under me. With some quiet maneuvering we were resituated, my head resting happily on his chest instead.

“Well then, we must take it was a good omen. I say though, never figured you for the naughty book type.”

He chuckled. “Oh, I’ve read a few ribald tomes in my years. They can allow one to pleasantly while away the lonely hours.”

“I’m sure. Though if I’m given any say in the matter you won’t be having many lonely hours to devote to smut in future.” I grinned up at the man.

“Not lonely hours perhaps, but I can see the benefit in time put to reading such works together. Sharing of erotic literature, if it is well written and of the right type, can be a very enjoyable experience indeed.” He stroked my shoulder affectionately. “As lovely as our current position is, please pardon me for suggesting that we remove ourselves to the lavatory for washing up.”

“Yes. Things are a mite gooey.” My stomach choose that moment to enter the conversation. “And if it wouldn’t be too much trouble.”

“Breakfast?” He gave me an indulgent look and a last squeeze before opening his arms, “I believe that can be arranged. Soft boiled or poached?”

I moved from his loosened embrace and sat up. “Poached. With toast of course. Some strong tea. And trout or kippers if we have them. Dashed rotten that we don’t have any bacon about the place.”

“I take it then that you will once again be partaking of the flesh of quadrupeds?” He too sat up and then rose from the bed to proceed into the washroom. I watched his unclad backside leave the room with fascination. 

Once he’d disappeared round the door frame I came back to myself and hopped up to join him. He was fussing with the taps and readying washcloths and soaps. I imagined for a moment that we might both fit in the tub but quickly realized the basin wasn’t nearly large enough for two.

“Yes. That was all part of the ruse too of course. I’ve been eating red meat outside the flat actually.”

“I surmised as much. Bertram, if you don’t mind, I insist that we discuss matters over breakfast.” Strange how he could manage that serious tone even while standing naked before me and wiping himself down with a wet flannel. 

“Matters?” I frowned while stepping into the bath and began my own clean up with a cloth. I then sunk down into the water and shut off the faucets before snatching up another washcloth and the soap.

He sighed and nodded gravely. “Ours is a difficult situation. I fully intend to continue this new aspect of our relationship and assume that you do as well.”

“Bally well right I do.”

“To wit, we must come to a consensus on the best way to comport ourselves to avoid anyone else learning of the liaison. I trust Chanda and his aunt to be discreet of course, but there are sadly others who won’t be as accepting.” 

“Yes. Chanda already warned me of all this.” I forwent my usual slow cleaning ritual for a quick but thorough cleansing of the Wooster person and rose from the bath in record time. “Never fear, we’ll chew over the matter with breakfast.” 

“I am glad to hear it. And you’ll be most happy to know that I put away a few rashers in the larder for my personal use. I’d be delighted to share them this fine morning.” Jeeves secured a towel round his broad hips, then unfolded another and wrapped it lovely around my shoulders. 

“I’ve likely said it before, and I expect I’ll say it again. Reginald Jeeves you are a wonder. A beautiful, glorious, wonder.” I grinned at him rather like the love struck ninny that I was. 

He returned the look, albeit in an altogether Jeevesian manner. “Thank you, Bertram sir. We do our best.”

Never before had words such as these from the man been followed by a passionate kiss but I was quite confident that they would continue to in the future.

The End


End file.
